And with a suddenness that has once again caught me off guard, the darkest time of year is here.

Meanwhile, our family has been furiously celebrating the light within, mostly through festivals at Kingston's school. Michaelmas, to remember our courage when we are faced with dark times; Martinmas (and its corresponding Lantern Walk), to make external our inner light, our lanterns guiding us in the darkness.

These activities were designed to remind us -- children and grown ups both - that though we may be faced with the unknown, we have the ability to summon strength and courage, light and goodness from inside ourselves. These festivals help us to remember again and again that light and dark each have their time as they move through the seasons, like the earth breathing in before exhaling again.

This has been good for me to remember, especially in the past several weeks. Since the night of November 8th, I've been mucking through, trying to sort out my feelings about our general collective state. I've been doing this, like more than half of the people in this country, because the candidate I threw in with did not win.

We are joined together in whatever happens next, no doubt about that. This makes it more important than ever for us to connect with those around us through conversation and shared experiences, good food and open minds.

Neighbors, friends, acquaintances and family. It doesn't take much. Invite them in for soup. Let it soothe us as we take comfort in one another's company. Together, we are resilient.

Comforting Black Bean SoupThis is the soup I could eat every day, rain or shine, whether I'm feeling happy, sad or worried about nothing and everything. It is extremely simple and requires pretty much no attention once you have thrown all the ingredients in the pot. If you want to make this vegan, simply omit the pork and throw in a piece of kombu to add that extra umami flavor that the pork otherwise gives this.

InstructionsPick through beans, removing any stones or debris. In a large container, cover beans with a good 2 to 3 inches of water. Allow to soak overnight.

The following day, drain beans. Place in a large pot. Cover with about an inch of filtered water. Add onions, peppers, garlic, bacon, oil, salt and a generous amount of black pepper. Over high heat, bring the pot to boil then turn down to low simmer. Allow to simmer covered for 3 1/2 to 4 hours. At this point, the beans will be quite soft. Use a potato masher to gently press down on the beans. This will break down some of the beans while leaving some texture. If you are using kombu, the seaweed will have melted into your soup by this point. Continue to simmer 15 to 20 minutes then add vinegar. Cook an additional 15 minutes to mellow out the vinegar. Serve with garnishes and a dash of Mexican-style hot sauce if desired. This is great with cornbread.

The soup keeps for several days and continues to improve in flavor, as bean dishes often do. It will thicken up after refrigeration. Sometimes I add a little water when I warm it up, other times I eat it as is, thick and creamy.

Change has been the general theme for us around here. There's been the start of school with a new teacher in a new classroom to adjust to, a bit of travel thrown in, and of course there's the weather which is being its usual Pacific Northwest self: predictably unpredictable.

I've been realizing more and more, though, that that's okay. To have things shift around, make you suddenly crazy-busy or just feel crazy. To not be sure if it's going to rain downpourishly for the five days or not. We just can't predict much of it, but we can adjust to the changes as they happen.

One of the main reasons why I've been thinking this way, in addition to the above mentioned stuff, is that we've had a lot of incredibly challenging moments recently with Kingston, in terms of his behavior. It is absolutely developmentally normal for kids of his age (four going on five) to want to say just what they think (often in a less than kind way), assert themselves boldly and completely ignore what you or any other grown up asks them to do.

This is hard.

Okay, that was an understatement.

It is terribly, terribly hard. But I've learned, with the help of some very smart and loving people in my life, that it's okay to feel that it's just awful and that what a kid who is not behaving and even being aggressive needs more than anything is a combination of empathy and authority. Hold the boundaries! Set limits! But do it with warmth and love.

One person even described it to me like this: "You're the benevolent queen...Act like the benevolent queen."

After she said that, things just clicked. Kingston and I started to get along better. As the queen of my kingdom, I said enough when it was enough (Um, like, no, we can't put "Froggy Went A' Courtin'" on a loop so that it's the only song that plays for every single second of the day just because that's what you want even if you scream about it.).

And things have started slowly to change. My little minion (said lovingly, of course) seems to be getting that I'm firmly saying no or correcting him because I love him and don't want him to grow up to be a narcissistic terror of a person. Or maybe, he doesn't understand it that way, per say; he just knows that mama loves him. Period.

Underneath that sometimes tough queenly benevolence, good things have come to the surface for us. I've been feeling cautious relief. Especially when we have moments like yesterday, when we lay in bed in the morning and drew tons of spider webs together in an old notebook. Or, later the same afternoon, when we sat at the table and drank hot chocolate together, addressing one another as Mr. Dog (him) and Mr. Cat (me).

Life reminder: when you can ride through the changes, the really difficult moments, allowing the stuff underneath to rise to the surface, you'll be surprised, maybe even grateful. Oh, and don't forget that you are the benevolent ruler of your own little kingdom, indeed.

In his dream he had gone to the pantry to fetch someone a slice of magnificent pork pie. But when he cut the pie open he found that there was very little pork inside it. Most of the interior was taken up by the city of Birmingham. Within the pie crust forges and smithies smoked and engines pounded. One of the citizens, a civil-looking person, happened to stroll out from the cut that Stephen had made and when his glance fell upon Stephen, he said...

— Susanna Clake, Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell

Speaking of what lies beneath the surface... I don't know why it took me so long to read Susannah Clarke's wonderful novel, but an 800-page book about magic and fairies and spells to summon anyone you want through time and space... Well, that was a good, escapist thing to be reading while going through my ups and downs with my child. One day, snatching a few minutes to read while locked in the bathroom (okay, other parents, feel free to admit that you have done this), I came across the above passage and decided I had to make my own pork pie. Nothing, nothing at all like an English pork pie, which is packed to the limit with various incarnations of pork products so that it's actually more like a crust-encased terrine. Nope, this is my version, which probably more closely resembles a sort of pot pie and is packed with potatoes and apples instead. Magical in its own way. Enjoy!

InstructionsRoll out half of pie dough into a 14-inch diameter circle. Place in glass pie pan. Trim so that there is a 1-inch overhang. Wrap well and place in fridge. Roll out top crust in same manner and place on a baking tray. Cover well and place in fridge. Crust should be chilled for 2 hours to overnight.

Prepare filling. In a large pan, heat oil over medium-high heat. Add onion and 1/2 teaspoon salt. Sautee until softened, 8 to 10 minutes. Add garlic, cook for another minute then add pork, breaking up with wooden spoon. Add another 1/2 teaspoon salt. Sautee until pork is browned. Add sage and chili flakes. Give the mixture a good stir then add potatoes, stirring to combine. Add water and remaining salt then cover, turning down heat. Cook on low for 10 minutes. Uncover, then add apples, cooking for additional 10 to 15 minutes. Add freshly ground pepper. Taste and adjust for salt as well. Remove filling from heat. (I like the filling to be at least lukewarm when putting this into the crust, but it will also work if you're in a rush and filling is hot. Just work quickly!)

When you are ready to put the pie together, preheat oven to 450°F. Spoon filling into prepared bottom crust. Cover with top crust, cutting vent holes for steam release. Beat egg yolk and water together. Brush egg wash over top crust. Place pie on middle rack. Bake for 15 minutes then turn temperature down to 400°F. Bake for an additional 45 to 50 minutes, until crust is golden. Serve warm or at room temperature.

This month five years ago, Marc and I pulled into my brother's driveway here in Bellingham, our truck packed tightly with everything we thought necessary plus the poor dog who was allotted about one square foot of space for the 2,000-mile journey. All along the way, boxes kept falling down on his hairy head and not once did he complain.

We had, after some deliberation, decided that this was the place where we were going to put down roots. Marc and I didn't know where we would exactly live in our new town, but a month later, after I'd started to settle into my private practice, we found a house next to the woods. We have been here since.

Two or even three years in, there were moments where I would suddenly forget where I was. I would open my eyes in the morning, feeling disoriented at seeing the walls of a room other than those of our old bedroom in California. Or, I'd be driving along by the lake and take a turn, expecting to arrive somewhere in L.A.

Somewhere in the middle of living my life, though, that unsettled feeling drifted away. It took a while. My former life in Southern California feels like a dream and now my roots reach down, firmly anchoring me to this place of clouds, rain and wetland woods.

I don't miss the heat, the perpetual summer. What I miss most about my hometown is people -- friends I haven't seen in so long, family I no longer get to spend time with on a regular basis.

There are a few other things, like food, for instance. I know L.A. has changed so much since we left, and the food with it. Just today, I was listening to Evan Kleiman's Good Food on KCRW. She was talking about the rise of Latino coffee houses all over Southern California, including Tierra Mia a few blocks from my old high school. I hadn't heard anything about that before turning on the podcast.

When it comes to food and my hometown, I miss Little Tokyo, or J-Town most and the yummy stuff we'd regularly eat there. Like mochi and mochi ice cream from Mikawaya and warm red bean cakes from Mitsuru Cafe called imagawayaki (see video below) that are cooked in rows of copper pans.

Most of all, I miss our weekly, sometimes twice-weekly visits to the Curry House.

Have you ever had Japanese curry? It seems not that many people up here in our town, at least the ones I've talked to, know about it. In many American minds, Japanese food equals sushi and not curry. But in Japan, it's a comfort food cooked at home, one of those well-loved dishes where each family makes it their own way. Everyone loves it, kids included.

It's my ultimate comfort food.

Kare raisu, as it is known, falls into the category of yoshoku. This style of cooking takes Western ingredients and transforms them into something to suit Japanese tastes. Though most of us think of curry as an Indian spice, rather than something from the West, it's thought to have been introduced to Japan by the British. Hence, kare raisu's yoshoku status. At its most basic, kare raisu is a curry-flavored gravy with onions and may also contain beef, pork, chicken or veggies. As the raisu part of the name points out, it's typically served over rice.

At Curry House, you can order your dish in many different ways. You can get a deep-fried meat cutlet over it, or a ground beef patty. You can have it topped with tofu or boiled egg. It's completely customizable.

Here's the version we cook in our house. It's the one we like and now eat at least once a week as we hold onto memories of friends, family and visiting our favorite place in Little Tokyo.

InstructionsIn a large, heavy-bottomed pot heat oil over medium heat. Add onions and saute until they turn golden and are just beginning to caramelize, 10-12 minutes. Add carrots, then vegetable broth. Bring to a boil then add potatoes and salt. Cover and simmer for about 30 minutes, until potatoes are tender.

In the meantime, make the roux. In a large saucepan or a wide skillet, heat oil. Add flour, both curry powders and garam masala. Stir for a minute or two, incorporating the ingredients together. Add Worcestershire sauce, tomato paste, cayenne and honey, stirring and pressing mixture together. You will have a dry paste. Turn off heat. Set aside.

Once your vegetables are done, ladle out about 2 cups of the liquid. Turn heat back to low for the roux. Add a small amount of liquid to the roux at a time, stirring after each addition, until all of the broth has been added. You will have a very thick gravy. Add all of this back to the pot with the vegetables and stir gently, until a rich gravy develops. Add peas and allow to warm through.

Serve over rice. I like my curry garnished with red pickled ginger (beni shoga). And here! Come watch how they make goza soroh (another name for imagawayaki). They are delicious!

Recently, a bronchial bug took hold of our household. We stayed in for days, glancing occasionally out the window as the cherry plum tree in our back yard slowly blossomed. At the beginning of the week, buds were visibly emerging from bare stems. Just four days later, the tree was filled in with blooms like a girl wearing hundreds of poofy pink bows in her hair, ready for a party.

Maybe it was the sight of the blossoms, or the appearance of blue skies two (two!) days in a row. Either way, we definitely started to feel more energetic. After lunch on the second day, we happened to look out the window to see a flash of bright yellow. Kingston immediately recognized it.

"Wood chipper!" He yelled running toward the door.

"Put on some shoes!" I shouted, "And a jacket!"

He stumbled over the piles of sneakers, boots and slippers in the front hallway and managed to shove his bare feet into a pair of snow boots. I hurled a jacket at him, and threw one on myself. Oh! And shoes.

When we reach the cul-de-sac a minute later, we could see the city parks department guys already working, cutting off branches from a slightly tilted alder tree. One guy clutched a pole saw while the other worked from the high reaches of a cherry picker bucket.

We watched from a safe distance and ended up staying for at least two hours, perched together on the edge of the curb. Kingston hardly took his eyes away from the whole operation while asking me question after question:

Q: "What that black thing on top of that part over there?" (Asked while pointing to the bright yellow woodchipping machine with the name "The Bandit" stenciled on its side.)A: "Maybe that is part of the engine?" (Answered with a hopeful shrug.)

I did my best, keeping in mind what I had once read in the Penelope Leach book, Your Baby and Child. There, Ms. Leach advises that if you don't know the answer to question, try to give one anyway. According to her, it isn't at all reassuring for a young child to hear an adult say, "I don't know." I don't doubt her one bit, as this definitely holds true for myself, an adult. When I have a question, I need answers!

While Kingston and I were still spectating though, one of the tree guys came over to tell us he was going to leave split firewood, cherry and alder, for anyone to take. Kingston declared that we should bring some home. By dinnertime, we had managed to move three Radio Flyer wagon loads up the hill. Then, with our hands, we reached into the wagon and plunked the wood down until we had a helter-skelter pile next to the house.

Hauling wood is tiring. It makes your arms and shoulders ache. It makes your belly rumble. So I was very glad that there was a pot of soup in the house, one I'd made over a couple of days. It is by no means an "authentic" or "traditional" Korean recipe, though the dish it might most be like is kimchi jigae. Rich and umani, this soup is neither too salty nor spicy, and is filled with fall-apart tender beef. It's fortifying and just right for the changing seasons, the return of health and hands on, spirit-lifting work.

Beef Short Rib and Kimchi SoupI like what Andy Ricker has to say about "authentic" and "traditional" foods in his Thai-centric cookbook, Pokpok: "The words imply an absolute cuisine...Both terms are nonsensical designations -- as if traditions are the same everywhere, as if they don't change, as if culinary ones don't evolve with particular speed." I wasn't trying for authenticity here. I just wanted to make some that's warming, soothing and super flavorful.

This is a weekend project type of recipe for most people, so do it a bit at a time. For example, cook the onions in the days prior, then the short ribs the day before, maybe squeezed in between other things you happen to be doing around the house. For me, this soup is easiest and most relaxing to make when I do it over a couple of days.

scallions, sliced on the diagonal, for garnishjulienned carrots, a couple of handfuls, for garnish

InstructionsFor the short ribs:Sprinkle short ribs with salt. Set aside.

Heat a dutch oven or other large, lidded pot over a medium-high flame. Add 2 teaspoons oil then the sliced onions. Saute until they begin to soften then lower heat to medium-low, stirring every few minutes so that the onions don't burn. Continue cooking onions in this manner, lowering heat as needed, until they begin to caramelize, about 30 minutes. Remove onions from pot and set aside.

Turn heat to medium-high. Add another teaspoon of oil to pot. Sear the short ribs, allowing each side to brown before turning them using tongs. Once they are well-browned, about 15 minutes, return onions to pan and add 3 cups beef broth. Bring to boil then turn heat to very low, cover tightly and allow to simmer on stovetop for 2-3 hours, checking intermittently to make sure there is enough liquid so that it won't burn. Add broth as needed. You may alternatively cook this in a slow cooker for 8 hours on low. The meat on the ribs will be tender and gelatinous. Remove from bone and cut meat into bite-sized pieces.

For the soup:Heat a dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add the last teaspoon of oil. Add kimchi, black pepper and bonito flakes and saute until warmed through. Stir in mirin, remaining broth and any remaining juices from the kimchi. Add short ribs, along with the onions and any juices and broth left from cooking the meat. Heat until meat and broth are warmed through. At this point, taste and adjust seasonings. If the soup is overly spicy, you can add a bit more mirin to temper it. Adjust salt and pepper to taste. Once you've adjusted the seasoning to your liking, add the rice cakes to the soup. Cook until the rice cakes are warmed through.

Ladle into soup bowls and garnish with scallions and carrots. Serve with cooked rice on the side.

It is impossible not to love someone who makes toast for you. People’s failings, even major ones such as when they make you wear short trousers to school, fall into insignificance as your teeth break through the rough, toasted crust and sink into the doughy cushion of white bread underneath. Once the warm, salty butter has hit your tongue, you are smitten. Putty in their hands.